


You and I will not be shaken

by nightimedreamer



Series: Carry on Countdown 2020 [8]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Blood Drinking, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Kissing, M/M, Magickal Creatures, Partial Nudity, Sharing a Bed, Songfic, Watford (Simon Snow), Watford Eighth Year, magic sharing, you know all the cool stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28077132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightimedreamer/pseuds/nightimedreamer
Summary: Simon Snow is used to dealing with dark creatures sent by his nemesis, the Insidious Humdrum—go off first, ask questions later. However, when a new threat looms over Watford, bringing wicked snowstorms and besieging the school, Simon finds himself unable to defeat it like he's used to.After all, you can't fight a deadly song with a sword, just like you can't fight the cold without heat.(Baz Pitch knows that part better than anyone else.)OR: How far will Simon go to keep hisenemyroommate alive?
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry on Countdown 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027081
Comments: 68
Kudos: 241
Collections: Carry On Countdown 2020





	1. You're cold against the skin

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! COC day 21 - Warmth. Today's fic actually fits three different prompts - Warmth, Song and Snowstorm.  
> (You guessed right. It's a songfic.)  
> This is inspired by the song "Winter Sound", by Of Monsters and Men. This first chapter would probably fit better the prompt "snowstorm", but oh well.  
> Also, I imagine this being mostly canon compliant up until winter break - that is, after the dragon and the "twinkle, twinkle" magic sharing scenes, but before they leave for Christmas.  
> Enjoy!

**Simon**

They come some days before winter break. 

I know it's the Humdrum—though he's never sent something quite like… _this._

He sent a bunch of flying monkeys once, like something out of a children's book. (They probably were; to this day, I don't know.) He's sent a sphinx, gryphons, trolls and goblins. Even dragons. 

They were wild, causing destruction and hurting people. I don't think any of those creatures were in their right state of mind during the attacks; sometimes, it weighs down on my conscience, knowing I killed them. 

There was something about them, something _different_ —wrong. Something missing, a dry sucking feeling in the air all around. They were going crazy. 

These creatures aren't like that 

I've seen one of them, once or twice, through the dining hall's windows. 

Yesterday, they were just walking around the school grounds. Everyone was curious, but they kept their distance, so we kept ours. And I wasn't really in the mood to go around blowing up seasonal spectres. (At least, that's what I thought they were.)

Ebb tried to warn the Mage, but he brushed her off. Said they weren't what she thought they were; that she was paranoid. 

They attacked as soon as he left the school. 

This morning, when we woke up, there was a thick fog covering the school grounds like a blanket. It's still there, actually, no matter how many times our teachers cast **Winds of change** or **Which way the wind blows.**

And now, just some hours later, they burst into the dining hall. 

Well, I wouldn't say _burst,_ exactly. They just walk in with such calm and grace, I almost think they own the place. 

The teachers get up in an instant, artifacts drawn out and spells on the tip of their tongues. 

The world stills all of a sudden, watching with intent. 

I've never seen anything like these creatures. 

They're tall and ethereal, and kind of translucent, walking like their feet don't touch the ground. They're dressed in white sheets like ghosts, billowing in the cold winter breeze. 

One of them turns to me, then, and my breath dies in my lungs. Penny gasps, almost choking on her lunch, and grips my arm tightly.

Its eyes are almost completely black, save for a ring of crystal white in the middle; pupils on a black sclera. The skin is so thin that, for a moment, I think I'm staring right at an animated skeleton. It stretches over too-sharp cheekbones; bone-white and turning blue, like… 

Well, like a corpse left out in the snow. 

(I always supposed that should preserve them or something.) (Not the case with these guys, anyway.) 

The one who's staring at me grins, and I think its skin nearly rips around the lips. Wicked. 

This can't be good. 

**“Silence is golden,“** Miss Possibelf casts while everyone is still staring at them, shocked. The air simmers for a moment as the spell spreads around the room, and suddenly, all sounds are drowned out—the students whispering, the noises of cutlery clinking against plates or falling to the ground. 

It's not complete, though; for a room this large and this full of people, that'd be nearly impossible. So, we can still hear the wicked spectres when they speak, in voices that sound like the wind howling during a snowstorm. It feels like there's frost covering my skin, crawling up my spine. 

_“We're here to take the Chosen One,“_ says the one in the front, looking right at me. I'm not sure its mouth is moving. _“We'll take him, and then we shall leave, no harm done to anyone else.“_

The students look around, leaning closer so that they can hear each other, though I can only see their mouths moving. The looks they send me are clear enough, though. 

“No!“ Penny practically screams; I hear her voice muffled, even though she's right by my side. “We can't turn him in!“ 

No one else seems to hear her though. Well, except for one person. 

Before I can understand what's going on, Baz is standing by my side, gripping my arm so tightly it hurts. I look at him, betrayal stamped all over my face. I mean, I shouldn't be surprised, I _know._

It's just… I never thought he'd be so quick to throw me to the Humdrum. 

Except, then, he doesn't. Instead, Baz pulls me away from them, holding out his wand in front of me and circling the room. We approach the service door at the back of the dining hall, looking out one of the windows. There are more of them out there. 

The whole building is surrounded. 

Baz pushes me more to the middle of the room, where the teachers are gathered, facing the weird beings. They stand by my side, forming a barrier between us. 

“Don't try anything,“ Baz says, so close that his lips brush my ear. His voice sounds far away, though; muffled, like he's underwater. “Don't even try to summon that ridiculous sword. And for the love of Crowley and all magic things, _don't open your mouth.“_

I scowl, turning to look up at his face. Anger boils inside of me, and I want to punch him. He's close enough that I can headbutt his face and break his nose again. 

I don't, though, because now I can see his expression. Baz looks… 

Scared. 

He stares at me, his lips forming a thin line and his eyes, wide. I've never seen him look like this. Not even when we faced that chimera, back in fifth year, and it almost sent him up in flames. 

I start to understand, then, just how fucked we are. 

Miss Possibelf takes a step forward, and so does the creatures' leader. None of them falters. 

“You're not touching a single one of our students,“ she says, and I can hear her voice more clearly. It doesn't waver. “You will leave this school in peace, and you won't be taking Simon Snow, nor anyone else, with you.“

 _“As you wish,“_ the icy voice replies. It tricks my ears, coming from all sides and nowhere at all. _“But you have been warned. No one will leave this school until the Chosen One leaves with us.“_

They turn around, retreating. But I know it isn't over.

As soon as they're all outside, walking away and disappearing into the fog, the room comes back to life. 

Suddenly, everyone's talking at the same time; a thousand voices _shouting_ at the same time. Some people are crying, panicking; some are simply staring blankly ahead. 

Baz lets go of me, his arm falling limp by his side. We stare at each other for a moment. 

“What does this mean?“ I ask. He sneers, back to himself in an instant. 

“Of course you don't know, Snow,“ Baz says, condescending. “Here goes a hint: it means we're all doomed. And it's _your fault.“_

*******

It takes Miss Possibelf almost an hour to be in a fit enough state to talk. It's obvious that the silencing spell took a good chunk of her power, and on top of that, everyone is freaking out. 

At one point, a group of students from our year volunteer to go out and evaluate the situation, with some of the teachers in tow. 

I'm already calling my sword and starting to follow them when an iron grip closes around my elbow. 

“Where do you _think_ you're going?“ Baz asks, pulling me back onto the seat so forcefully, the whole table shakes. 

“Fuck off, Baz!“ I growl, slapping his hand away. “What if they need me?!“ 

“You're literally the last person they need,“ he says, scornfully. “The Isingere want you, not any of them. Besides, you'd probably end up getting everyone killed—“ 

“The fucking _what_ now?“ 

“—or worse: _magicless.“_

I'm going to punch him, truce be damned. I'm already pulling my fist back and aiming for his despicable mouth when someone else holds my arm. 

“He's right, Simon,“ Penny says, and I feel it like a spear through my chest. Betrayal. “Just listen, okay? Those things are too dangerous, even for you.“ 

“Then why let all those people go outside?“ I ask, exasperated. “This is insane, Penelope!“ 

“I know,“ she says, sitting down by my side. I notice Baz still hasn't left, so now they're basically flanking me. “They're just going to see what's going on. Hopefully, no one will get too close to those things.“ 

Baz snorts. “As if they need to.“ 

I give him a warning look before turning back to Penny. “Anyway. What did you say they're called?“ 

_“I_ said,“ Baz interrupts me, “that these things are Isingere.“ 

I ignore him. “Penny?“ 

“He's right,“ she says again. I huff. “They're ice sirens.“ 

I frown. “I didn't even know they existed.“

“Me neither,“ she says, frowning. “They aren't even part of Normal folklore. I've always thought they were just myths.“ 

“Well, seems like they aren't,“ Baz butts in again. “Do you have any idea of what these things can do, Snow?“ 

I roll my eyes at him. “You already know I don't, so just spit it out!“

He smirks, seemingly amused. “Well, for one, their deadly song can freeze things.“ He leans into me, dramatically, whispering close to my ear: “that's why Possibelf cast the silencing spell. Singing together at once, they could've turned us all into ice statues.“ 

I stare at him, gaping. When I turn to Penny, she gives me an apologising look. 

“Fuck.“ 

“Precisely. _Fuck.“_ Baz taunts me. “And if you try to use magic against them, do you know what happens _then?“_

“...what?“ 

Baz's sly smile turns glum. “It freezes your voice, Snow. Before the sound can make it out of your mouth.“ 

I turn to Penny. She nods. “They call it the Winter Sound. When people hear their song in the distance, they know what's coming.“ 

“And how can we defeat them?“ I ask.

Baz and Penny exchange a look. “We can't,“ he says. “Not when it's literally winter and they've already surrounded us.“ 

I open my mouth to ask what it means when the reconnaissance party comes back. 

I know, the moment the doors open, that things are much worse than we thought. 

Students and teachers step forward pushing something big, heavy and rectangular. A solid block of ice. 

It takes me a moment to process, to recognise her: it's Ebb in the ice. She's frozen in the middle of a scream, mouth agape and eyes wide with surprise. 

She was probably trying to defend the school, when they came... _for me._

**Baz**

Watford is under siege. 

I knew it the moment they said _“no one will leave this school.“_ But it seems more real, now. Inescapable. 

We won't be getting out of here alive. Not without external help. 

Dev climbs up onto one of the long tables and waits until people are calm enough to listen to him. Then, he proceeds to tell everyone that there's a kind of barrier surrounding the school grounds—no one can go through the fog. There's no way to get out. 

I look over at Simon, trying to gauge his reaction. There's none, though; he's not even listening. 

He's kneeling by the ice block, looking at the goatkeeper. If I was someone else—Bunce, for example, or maybe Wellbelove—I'd approach him and touch his shoulder. Hold his hand. I'd even hug him, if I could. 

But I can't. And I'm the last person he wants to hear comforting words from. 

“We can still save her,“ Bunce says, shaking his shoulder hopelessly “Simon. Simon, please, there are healing spells.“ 

He shakes his head. “Not from this.“ 

I sigh, not believing what I'm about to do. 

“Hey. Snow.“ I sit down beside him. He tenses up immediately. I lean a bit closer, speaking quietly. “Simon.“ 

He shrugs my hand off when I try to touch his arm. “You were right. This is my fault.“ 

I do my best to not scowl. “Don't be stupid. _You_ didn't do this.“ Wrong words. I see his murderous look reflected back at me in the ice. “Besides,“ I continue whispering, “there's a heartbeat.“ 

He turns to look at me then, eyes wide and knowing. “Really? You mean, _really?“_

I nod. “I can hear it.“ 

There's a pause, and then he nods back, letting out a shaky breath. He splays one hand over the ice. It hisses and melts under his touch. 

When he turns back to me again, there's anger in his eyes. “I'm going to turn those arseholes into a bunch of puddles.“ 

“I'm sure you will, Snow,“ I say, reaching out to pat his shoulder, then pulling my hand back at the last second. “But we need to proceed cautiously now. You can't go barreling towards them with exploding magic like you're used to.“ 

He huffs. “I don't care. I just want them to pay.“ 

The dining hall's doors burst open again, and everyone jumps a little. But it's just the Nurse. 

Simon watches, helplessly, as she examines the block of ice. The teachers are all surrounding it now, casting spells over it. 

We stand up and give them space. 

*******

It starts snowing just after sunset. 

It's not a natural phenomenon, either. It builds up to a snowstorm unnaturally fast. We stand at the doors, watching as the snow covers everything—if we thought it was difficult to see before, in the fog, now it's impossible. 

We end up missing all of our afternoon classes. Nobody leaves the room after that, so at some point they just start serving dinner. How the staff got the food here is a mystery to me. (I suppose they used magic, but everyone seems to be avoiding that right now.) (Wisely.) 

Snow barely touches his food. It's beyond uncommon. Bunce and I exchange a glance, concerned. 

“I need everyone to hear me now,“ Miss Possibelf's voice booms, though she's not using magic. “All of you must go back to the dorms. We'll send you in pairs with your respective roommates. Don't use your magic unless _strictly necessary.“_

She doesn't tell us to keep our mouths shut, but I think everyone is aware of that by now. 

We start heading out one pair at a time; one of us conjuring light while the other casts a compass spell. When Simon casts **Lighthouse in the storm,** it cuts through the night, illuminating the school grounds almost completely. 

So much for trying to be discreet. 

We see them again on the way to Mummer's. They're not really doing anything, just walking around in the white storm, their veils billowing in the wind; making them almost invisible. 

We move fast, but the cold is almost too much for me. Someone else probably wouldn't struggle this much, but being a vampire means I have lower body temperature than most. I'm starting to fear for my feet—do vampire limbs regenerate after falling off? Can we even heal from frostbite at all? 

When we finally make it to Mummer's, we're both knackered. Simon helps me up the stairs, letting me lean on him. 

I heave a sigh of relief when I finally sit down on my bed. I start on the laces of my shoes, taking them off carefully. 

Simon watches, swaying in the middle of the room, as I do it. It's not like he doesn't know, but this… 

This is different. 

“Does it hurt?“ He asks, staring. I lift an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm probably going to lose a bloody limb, Snow. What do you _think?“_

He rolls his eyes. “Christ, Baz, I can't even ask a simple question—alright, nevermind. I was just wondering if you'd like me to cast a healing spell. Or something.“ 

I scoff. _“Or something.“_

I don't actually decline, though. I'm not in a position to do that. 

So, when Snow sits down by my side on the mattress, I don't complain about him getting dirty snow on my sheets. I just let him examine my left foot, touching it lightly. His warm fingers feel like heaven. 

He looks up at me, hesitant. “Can I…?“ 

I take my wand and let him hold my hand. “Go ahead, Snow.“ 

Up in the tower, I know we're safe. The bloody windows are closed, for once. 

I don't even need to cast a spell. Just the feeling of Snow's magic entering my veins, filling me with stars and warmth, is enough to make the cold retreat. 

My foot is almost back to its paleish grey colour, though the dark spots remain, purple like bruises. 

Simon lets go of my hand to hold my foot, massaging the bruises. I let out a contented sigh before realising what's happening. What _almost_ happens, because as soon as I feel the blood flow returning to my extremities, I push Snow off the bed. 

(The warmth stays for a moment longer after he's gone.) (I don't get to revel in it.) 

“The fuck, Baz,“ Snow says, always so eloquent. “A thank you wouldn't hurt, you know.“ 

“Thank you, Snow, for saving my foot from imminent detachment,“ I drawl out, sarcastically. 

“I won't save your nose,“ he humphs, going into the en suite. 

My eyes widen, and I realise I haven't felt my nose since— 

Oh. Okay, alright. It's still intact. Just a bit numb.

I sigh, falling back on the bed. The shower starts running. 

“You can use the hot water,“ Simon says. I frown at him. 

“Since when are you so considerate?“ 

“Since you stopped trying to kill me,“ he shoots back. 

“I haven't tried that in _years,_ Snow.“ 

“Whatever. You've also been less of a prick lately, so there's that.“ He shrugs, sitting down at his desk. (I ignore the fact that he just left his damp blazer crumpled on the floor.) He bites his lip, then looks back at me. “Also… thank you. You know. For today.“ 

I lift an eyebrow at him. “For what, exactly?“ 

“For… standing up for me. You know. And warning me about the Isingere.“ 

“Bunce could have done any of those things,“ I say, sneering. “Don't be delusional, Snow. I'm not your newest sidekick. We're on a truce, nothing more.“ 

“Well, I suppose, but the important part is that _you_ did it,“ he says, ignoring the rest of what I said. Then, he _grins._ “Stop being a prick and just accept that you don't hate me that much, Pitch.“ 

I scoff, but I save myself the trouble of replying. I'm not really in the mood to banter. I'd rather wake up well rested tomorrow, instead of spending the night replaying this conversation in my head. 

Still, it makes something flutter inside my chest, seeing Snow grinning like this. At me. This is the kind of grin he reserves for people who are important to him. People whom he cares about. 

So, I get up and head into the en suite without another word. Steam clouds the room, making me sigh in relief. It feels like I'm melting. 

“Don't use up all the hot water,“ Snow says, just before I close the door. 

It's only when I'm under the spray of water that I realise the emptiness. 

It's a tug deep in my belly, like hunger, but not quite. I'm so used to it, I didn't realise before; besides, I did eat dinner, as best as I could in the crowded dining room, anyway. (It was risky, I know, but it was either that or spending the evening without any food at all.) 

Now, though, as the water continues the process Snow began—heating me up—the thirst becomes terribly evident to me. 

I haven't had any blood today. At all. 

And there's no way I'm going out in that storm.

**Simon**

I make the mistake of thinking there's something different between us. 

I keep doing that—thinking our banter and bickering and mildly nice exchanges mean something. 

The next day, the fog persists, and Baz and I head to the dining hall together for breakfast, in silence. It feels… different from last night. Uncomfortable. 

Maybe he's just grumpy because I woke him up too early and, on top of it, he didn't have time for his morning routine. 

It's a good thing though, walking with Baz. Not because of him, necessarily, but I guess having him with me (or just anyone, really) makes me feel safer. 

The fog is even thicker than it was yesterday, if that's possible. I can't see one foot ahead. 

When we get to the dining hall, a bunch of students are already there, and the teachers are taking turns on making announcements. We part ways as soon as we're inside. 

We're not having classes today. I can tell Baz isn't happy about it, but he doesn't say anything. _It's too dangerous,_ Penny explains. Too many students together in a room, performing magic… it would be like fishing with a large net, except _we're_ the fish. 

So, the school is in a kind of lockdown. There's also a curfew, starting just before the sun sets. 

Penny and I don't talk much during breakfast. I keep stealing glances at Baz, but he never looks my way. 

I sigh. “Hey, Pen, do we have any news about how Ebb is doing?“ 

Penelope sighs. “Nothing new. They managed to melt the ice… mostly. She's in a kind of magical coma, though.“ 

I slump forward, trying to hold the tears back. She just wanted to protect the school. “Do you think she's going to be alright?“ 

A shrug. “She's a powerful mage, Simon. I think her magic protected her from the worst. Now, we just need to be careful while bringing her back.“ 

I look around, hesitantly. “What they did to her… how? I mean, what kind of spell is this?“ 

“I told you; it's their _song,“_ she says, rushed. “They're like normal sirens, just… on ice, I guess. They conjured the snowstorm yesterday, and they can freeze anything just... singing.“ 

“... Wicked. Like, in a bad way.“ 

She snorts. “I know. They're terrifying.“ 

“So, what are we going to do…?“ 

“We wait,“ she answers, shrugging. “Miss Possibelf sent at least a dozen messages to the Coven. They should be sending help over the course of the next few days.“ 

“What kind of help?“ I ask. 

“I… don't know,“ she admits, sighing. “You see, the Isingere are more like nymphs than like dark creatures. They're distant parents of sirens, except that they're linked to ice and snow instead of bodies of water.“ 

I nod, chewing. “So, their power relies on the cold…?“ 

“Precisely. This is their _element,_ Simon,“ she says. “So, in order to have a chance against them, we need to take them out of it.“ 

“...Which is practically impossible, because they're _creating_ winter,“ I say, following her line of thought. 

“Not just that. It _is_ winter; if they were just singing to bring the storm, it would be much easier. But in this case, the season is on their side.“ 

“So…“ I chew on my lip, “what do we do?“ 

Penny takes a deep breath. “Here comes the tricky part. We'd have to… bring summer, somehow, to have a chance against them.“ 

"But that's impossible," I say, frowning. She shakes her head. 

“It's extremely difficult, yes, and requires an absurd amount of power," Penny says. "But some mages can—or, at least, some of them _could—_ change and control the weather. It hasn't been done in ages."

I nod, then, knowing what we're both thinking. 

I should be able to do it. I'm the Chosen One, the Greatest Mage, the 'power of powers' and all. 

I'm also the _worst._ Can't control my own magic enough to save us. If it's up to me to perform _that_ kind of complex spell, well… we're doomed.

We spend the rest of breakfast in silence. 

*******

As the day goes by, Baz's mood gets even worse, and consequently so does mine. 

We stay confined to Mummer's all day, only going out for meals and using minimal magic.

Night falls, and the snow follows shortly. 

Somehow, the storm is even crueler this time, unrelenting. We all have dinner earlier than normal to avoid having to go back to the dorms in the snow. I notice that Baz doesn't eat much, so I take some food with me when we go back to our room. 

“You need to eat, you know,“ I tell him. That only earns me a sneer. 

“I thought you were done being nice,“ he snaps, but I don't miss the way he keeps glancing at the food. I wonder why he couldn't just eat normally like everyone else. 

“Is it anorexia?“ I ask. “Or, like, some other kind of disorder?“ 

“What?“ He snorts, shaking his head. “Crowley, _no._ But I reckon that's not your business anyway, Snow.“ 

I shrug. “Whatever.“ 

I go into the en suite after that, leaving Baz sitting alone on his desk. Later, when I come out, it's already snowing, and the food is gone. 

He doesn't thank me. Actually, he doesn't acknowledge it at all. 

*******

The next day, when I wake up, he's already gone. 

I get dressed in a hurry, rushing out of the room with my tie half-tied and my belt hanging loosely around my trousers. 

_Bloody idiot, trying to get himself killed—_

I forget to care about the fog, running around blindly in the general direction of the dining hall, until I bump into someone. Hard. 

There's a grunt as we fall to the ground, then a glimpse of a familiar scowl, and for a moment, relief washes over me. 

Until he pushes me away, and I take him in. 

Dev.

“What's your _fucking_ problem, Snow?“ He snarls. Someone snickers to our right, and I look up to find Baz's other friend, Niall, doubling over from laughter. 

“What's with the loose trousers?“ He asks me, smirking. “Looking properly debauched today, aren't we?“ I blush, from anger and embarrassment. He laughs even more when I fumble to fasten my belt. 

“I was in a hurry,“ I spit at them, fuming.

“I wouldn't have realised,“ Dev sneers, brushing his uniform. I squint at him in the mist. (Did he pick that up from Baz, or is he just trying to emulate him?) 

“Sod off,“ I grunt, getting up. “Where's Baz?“ 

They exchange a glance. It looks too familiar to the way Penny rolls her eyes everytime I bring him up. 

“We're not his bloody babysitters, did you know that?“ Dev says, scornfully. 

“Well, he calls you blokes his _minions,_ so I don't really see the difference—“ 

His arm moves abruptly, whipping a wand out from somewhere, but Niall steps forward and grabs him. Then, he slaps Dev on the side of the head. “No fucking magic here, you dimwit.“ 

Dev shoves him away, half-heartedly, then turns to me again. “Whatever. _We_ don't follow him around like fucking dogs.“ 

I ignore him. _“Where_ is he?“ 

“Have you looked up your arse already?“ Niall quips. 

“We don't know!“ Dev says. “He's been a prick lately. Avoiding us. We haven't seen him today, and it's probably your fault.“ 

I gawk. “I haven't done anything!“ 

“You don't need to,“ Niall scoffs. _“This_ is all your fault, to begin with.“ 

Then, they turn around, leaving me behind in the fog. 

I should've taken the opportunity to throw a punch. I wanted to. I _want_ to punch _Baz._ For being so reckless and careless and leaving me behind. 

When I get to the dining hall—after running around aimlessly for another five minutes—he's already there, the bastard. I go straight to him. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?“ I ask, grabbing his jacket. He scowls at me. 

“Crowley, Snow, what bit your arse?“ He asks, slapping my hand away. Then, he smooths the front of his jacket. 

_“You,“_ I say. I stop immediately after, my face burning fiercely. “Fuck. I mean, why did you come alone? That's _dangerous,_ Baz! Why?“ 

“You really want to know why?“ He snarls, yanking me down beside him. His mouth is contorted weirdly, his teeth bared in a way he usually avoids. “I needed to _feed,_ Snow. I—“ 

Baz seems to come back to himself, then, covering his mouth and releasing me. His eyes widen for a moment. 

“You were… oh.“ I must look like an idiot, shocked by his blatant admission. 

“Yes. _Oh.“_ He says, but the sarcasm in his voice is mostly muffled. “Just leave me alone, okay? For your own sake.“ 

I frown. “But… but—“

He shakes his head, forcefully, waving me away as if I'm a bug annoying him. “Just go.“ 

I get up, then, with a grunt. Not even breakfast helps my mood. Not even Penny's reassuring words about the situation, and the good news about Ebb. 

I keep looking back at him. It's typical: everything circles back to Baz. 

I'm usually the impulsive one, so I know the face of someone who's considering doing something stupid. 

And I know him. 

**Baz**

One of the teachers caught me on the way to the White Chapel. 

I had no reason to be going there, and I was alone, so she escorted me right back to the dining hall. I even got a warning, which definitely _won't_ look good on my record. 

I feel terrible. It's been over two days—I can usually go about four without blood before I start feeling like this. I guess it's the weather wearing me down. 

Also, there are no classes to distract me these days, and Snow is in the room with me all the time, looking (and _smelling)_ like a fucking snack. 

(The cold makes his cheeks adorably rosy, and he's as hot as usual, like a fucking furnace.) 

I just want to slot myself in his arms and forget the fucking Winter Sound. If I had, in fact, encountered one of those vile creatures, I'd probably have tried to drain it. 

Letting Snow approach me, bringing him close _—so maddeningly close—_ was the final nail in my coffin. He was angry, flustered, and I could feel his warmth seeping through his clothes. 

The only thought left in my head was the one urging me to take his blood. 

That's how I know how far gone I am—if I start longing for him in the middle of a cold night, that's okay. If I dream—or fantasise—about biting him alone in our room, or down in the Catacombs, that's practically the default. 

Not this. Never in a room crowded with people. Not where everyone can see my fangs dropping if I'm not careful. 

(And oh, did they drop. Not only that, but the urge was there, stronger than ever. I almost jumped him in front of everyone.) 

That's how I know I'm nearing the point of no return. 

I can't go another day without blood. I can't risk attacking someone—attacking _Snow._

Especially when that bloody idiot keeps being so considerate of me. Now that the truce has made him too comfortable around me, too relaxed. Now that he might be too slow to fight me back. 

I wait until the sun is almost set, just before the storm. 

**Simon**

Penny and Agatha both accompany me to Mummer's after dinner, when Baz leaves me behind _again._ The sky is getting darker and darker by the minute. 

I can only hope that he's already there, warm and safe. 

I huff, and it comes out in a small cloud in front of me. 

“Thank you,“ I say, turning to the girls when we get to the building. I hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, looking between them. Agatha hasn't said anything to me all the way here, and now she's looking around nervously. 

“No problem, Simon,“ Penny says. “Send me a bird if anything happens, okay?“ 

I nod, then turn around, climbing the stairs two at a time. I barge into the room already growling, scolding words on the tip of my tongue, ready to be thrown at— 

The room is empty. 

I reel on my feet, looking around frantically, as if expecting Baz to jump out from under his bed to scare me. 

I look into the en suite—it's equally empty, and there are fewer places for him to hide here. I look under the beds for good measure, then I lunge for the window. 

It's dark outside—the storm clouds are gathering closer to the ground, closing in on the school. It's even more wicked from the top of the tower. 

And then I look down, as if I could see him outside, in the thick fog and under the snow— 

My head whips up again. 

It's started snowing. 

I sprint down the stairs, then out of the building.

My mind is too busy processing everything that's happened these last two days; Baz's weird behavior, his mood getting worse and worse— 

It dawns on me, then.

_“Just leave me alone, okay? For your own sake.“_

The way he bared his teeth, then covered his mouth. 

The way he didn't want to eat in front of other people. The way he was avoiding everyone, even his friends. 

I know where Baz is, and I know he's in danger. 

I can't see anything as the storm engulfs me, but I have my sword drawn and ready as I run off to the Catacombs.


	2. Take me in your arms when walls are closing in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Here's the second chapter as promised, just in time for day 24 of the countdown - Song. Just a heads up, though: this chapter (and the next) are very mildly spicy, hence the rating.   
> Also, there will be four chapters now, because this one was massive, so I decided to split it. Third chapter will be up as soon as I'm done editing it, hopefully this weekend.   
> Enjoy!

**Simon**

It's eerily silent down in the Catacombs. 

I remember Baz's words, so I don't say anything. This could be resolved much faster if I could just call for him, but if there's anything else down here, I'd rather not let it know that I'm coming. 

I walk fast, scanning the dimly lit corridors. There are torches on the walls, spaced weirdly, so they don't help much. 

I stop, then, and listen for any sounds—I can hear the wind whistling outside, and the fires cackling gently, and...

A light _tap_ on the rocks. Someone running. 

I sheath my sword and run towards the sound; when I take a sudden turn, someone collides against me. 

“Wha—“ there's a hand covering my mouth, a body pushing me back against the wall, and wide grey eyes locked to mine. 

Baz shakes his head, slowly, and then draws his hand back. I only stare at him, dumbfounded, forgetting where we are for a moment. 

(He's even colder than normal. He's so close, I can feel the difference.) (He also looks paler than he was yesterday, and his lips are chapped.) 

He tilts his head to the left, from where I came, before unceremoniously grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him. 

“Baz, wait—“ I shut up under his burning gaze. I frown, but let it go. 

We rush back through the pitch black corridors, and I notice they're _darker,_ somehow. 

Then, just as we enter the next corridor, one of the torches flicks and extinguishes. 

Baz and I stop abruptly, and I collide against him again, almost slipping. He catches me just before I fall butt first to the ground. 

We look down. There's a thin layer of ice covering the rocks that wasn't there five minutes ago.

I look at Baz. He's looking into the shadows, eyes narrowed. I can feel his breath against my cheek, shallow. 

A screeching sound echoes from the distance, but I can't tell if it comes from above or from the corridors around us. It bounces off the walls from all directions. 

I unsheathe the Sword of Mages carefully, looking forward and paying attention. I don't hear anything else for a minute, so I take a step into the shadows. 

There it is, then: a shiver racing up my spine, the frigid breath of winter hitting my back— 

I turn around with a sharp arc of my sword, almost hitting the white spectre, but it dodges at the last moment, the blade slicing through air. 

“Down!“ Baz shouts without magic, and I let myself fall to the ground. The next moment, something hot goes flying over my head— 

_A fireball against a winter spirit. Bloody brilliant, Baz._

But the Isinger just stands there, unaffected, as the ball of fire literally goes through its chest cavity. Well, not through. It leaves a melted hole.

It doesn't look troubled at all. Actually, when the creature looks up at us, it _grins._

I struggle to my feet, feeling my magic starting to boil and gripping my sword with both hands. 

Baz stands by my side, another fireball hovering above his open palm. 

Unfortunately for us, the corridor is too narrow, so we both have to be careful not to hit each other. 

The Isinger attacks again, shrieking out a magical note, and a blast of ice shoots in my direction. I intercept it with my sword. Frost spreads over the blade. 

I make my move. 

The creature dodges every thrust I make, avoiding my swinging sword with unnatural grace, and when it doesn't, it just turns incorporeal—I hit snow and ice, not flesh or skeleton or whatever. 

Baz keeps continuously attacking, fireball after fireball, but I can tell he's getting close to his limit. Besides, they aren't really effective. I think Baz concludes the same thing at the same time, because then we exchange a glance. 

And we attack at the same time. 

The look of amusement is wiped from the Isinger's face, and we take the opportunity to run away as fast as we can. 

The corridors are slippery, and running without falling is tricky, but Baz and I hold onto each other. 

I think we're close to the exit _—almost there—_ when he slips. 

I slide to a stop some steps ahead of him, almost slipping as well on my rush to turn around. The ground is now completely frozen and smooth like a rink. Terror flashes across his face when he looks up at me.

_“Simon—“_

I don't have a chance to wield my sword properly. Something attacks me from behind, hauling me up by the shoulders. A pale hand clasps around my neck. I think I'm screaming—the cold is everywhere, and my magic boils up to fight it—

The only thing I can see is Baz; blurred, like I'm looking at him through opaque glass. One of his hands is raised and pointing at us, holding something. 

I feel his magic reaching for me, the words coming out of his mouth in perfect elocution: **“In the heat of the mo—“**

The thing drops me suddenly, and then a shriek cuts the air—it's different from the others, somehow even _colder._

This. _This_ is the Winter Sound. 

I watch, horrified, as the freezing sound pulses on the air, interrupting the familiar magic before it's complete. Baz clutches his throat, his mouth still open, caught in the middle of the spell. 

I can only see his eyes, wide and scared and helpless— 

All that’s left in me is rage. It boils up, burning hot and spilling over like lava, my hand suddenly glowing with the heat— 

I pick myself up, swinging my sword, this time hitting the spectre in the neck. It's solid. 

_I'm going to sever its head._

I feel the force of the impact in my arms, in my _bones,_ my whole body reeling as the Sword of Mages shatters against the Isinger. 

**Baz**

I struggle to breathe, feeling a lump forming in my throat, keeping the words from spilling out. 

_My voice—_ I'm so utterly fucked. 

I try to speak again, and nothing comes out. I try to inhale, and nothing goes in. 

I'm panicking. 

I _panicked,_ seeing Simon at the mercy of that thing, watching the way it's fingers were suffocating him. I thought it would be enough, that _I'd_ be fast enough to cast the spell, that my panic would fuel it with magic before that thing could react. 

I miscalculated. 

Time itself seemed to freeze as I was casting the spell. The Isinger dropped him to the ground, and I faltered, and then it sang—the shriek is still ringing in my ears, and my head aches. 

I watch through the haze as Simon stares at his sword, shocked. I heard a crash, and I thought he had finally killed that thing, but no—it still stands. All that’s left of the Sword of Mages is the hilt and metal shards scattered at his feet. 

The Isinger opens its mouth, another melodious note rising to doom us, but this time, Simon's power drowns it out.

He shines with it, white-hot, blurred at the edges, and—

When he looks back at me, his eyes are glowing. 

I only have time to protect my head before he's unleashing it all. 

**Simon**

I think I black out for a minute. 

It happens sometimes, when I go off. I blink in the dark, feeling my cheek against the cold stone floor. Then, I remember. 

I stumble to my feet, looking for my sword—my fingers close over the hilt, but then, I realise it's much… lighter. 

Oh.

Oh, fuck. 

The blade is completely shattered. 

I look around, looking for something—a loose rock, _anything—_ I can use to defend us against the creature. 

I turn, and there's a pile of rocks blocking the corridor… the exit. Our only way to get out of here. The ceiling must have collapsed when I went off. 

Fucking Merlin, I went off, and Baz was _right there._

I get closer, pushing rocks and trying to move them aside, but there are too many, and they're too heavy. I feel a sob crawling up my throat.

“Baz?“ I call. Maybe he's on the other side. Maybe—

Groping around in the dark, blindly, I feel something cold and rigid, like a hand— 

But in the scarce light there's left in the tunnel, I realise this is not the hand I was looking for. 

I yelp when it closes around my wrist, pulling back so fast I fall on my butt. I crawl back, searching the dark, frantic, until I trip over something. 

Legs for miles. 

“Baz?“ I say again, louder this time, shaking what I think is his shoulder. If they didn't know where we were before, every single one of those things will know now. “Baz, we have to go. Baz. Fuck, please—“ 

A sob escapes my lips. Behind us, the debris stirs, little stones rolling down the pile of destruction as something underneath tries to get up. 

I look back at Baz. He's out cold, literally—so bloody cold. His face is dirty, his hair covered in dust. I push it away from his forehead. 

“Come on, Baz. Come on,“ I whisper against his skin. I can feel his chest moving, too slow. “Fuck. Come on. _Wake up,_ Baz.“ 

I try to push magic into the words. It doesn't work. 

I fumble around, looking for his wand—thank Merlin, it's still intact. 

I hold it in one of my hands while the other cradles his head. He'd probably murder me if he knew what I'm about to do. 

**“Early to bed and early to rise,“** I cast, pointing at his chest. More often than not, spells don't work when I cast with my own wand—sparks usually fly, something goes terribly wrong and people are sent to the infirmary. Now, though, for some reason, my magic flows smoothly through Baz's wand, almost _properly._

It's like holding his hand and just letting it go. Like a circuit, complete. The only thing that could go wrong is my elocution. 

I wait for a moment, holding my breath. 

Baz's body jerks suddenly, his eyes opening wide, and he takes a deep breath. 

Immediately after, he chokes, his mouth moving soundlessly. 

“Hey, calm down, Baz, breathe,“ I say, rubbing his back. For a moment, I'm so relieved to see him conscious, I feel the sudden urge to kiss his face. 

_Weird._

He takes a few shallow breaths, his hand going to his throat, like he's suffocating. “Just breathe, Baz. Like this.“ I speak softly.

The noise of rocks falling and grinding against each other interrupts me, and I look back to see that ghastly hand poking through the debris, trying to free itself. An arm follows, and then another hand. 

I help Baz get up, and then we stumble back through the corridor. He whimpers lightly as I pull him along, dragging one of his legs back. 

“Shit,“ I stop, looking up at him. “Are you hurt?“ 

He nods, opening his mouth, but again, nothing comes out. 

“Oh, fuck. Baz, your voice…“ 

He nods again, sadly, then tugs at my arm. But I know we're not getting far with him walking like this. 

I pull his left arm around my shoulders, my own arm going around his hips, supporting him. We walk as fast as we can like this. 

Another shriek cuts through the dark, and then another. They're coming. Baz and I exchange a glance. 

We move through the labyrinthine corridors, Baz still limping, and I'm starting to feel tired under his weight. It's cold, and getting even colder by the minute. 

It's not like I have a map of the Catacombs. I'm not sure there _is_ one; the net of tunnels spreads under the school's grounds, and I've never come across another entrance besides the one at the White Chapel. 

I'm sure there must be another. There are all kinds of hidden passages and archways and gates around Watford. I still haven't found all of them. 

We come across all kinds of magickal artifacts piled high in dead ends. There are large tombs with walls lined up to the ceiling with craniums, and Merlin knows what else. 

The walls are all covered in frost. The cold spreads, and there are fewer lit torches every turn we make. 

As the shrieks and cries get closer, more frequent, the only thing we can do is keep moving forward. 

Suddenly, after we make another sharp turn, Baz pulls me to the side, against a wall. I realise, then, the wooden surface, and I start fumbling around for a handle. 

Baz pulls the mysterious door open, finally, and we slide inside. 

We slump against the door, panting. I cast a quick **Let there be light,** hoping it will work—it does, though the light is… dimmer than usual. It fills the room unevenly, nothing like the way this spell usually works for me. _(When_ it works, that is.)

Still, it's better than complete darkness.

I look around. We're in a small room. I don't know why this is here; there's only an old mattress against one of the walls. 

It doesn't make sense until I see a set of chains dangling from the wall. 

Baz walks over to the wall and the chains rattle against stone as he pulls them off. They're obviously old, covered in the crust of time. 

“I didn't even know there were dungeons at Watford,“ I say, watching as he wraps the chains around the door handle, using them as a kind of makeshift lock. 

There's a melodic wail in the distance. 

“Great,“ I mutter, “now we're trapped here.“ 

Baz turns to look at me intently. I frown, and then I remember I've still got his wand. 

I hand it to him, but Baz keeps it pressed against my palm. He gestures at himself, touching first the tip of the wand, then his forehead. 

“You want me to cast a spell on you?“ I ask, surprised. 

He nods, then touches his forehead against mine. I swallow nervously, my eyes wide.

“O...kay, um. If you're sure.“ 

I take a deep breath, and he corrects the way I'm holding his wand before letting me cast. 

I try to think of a spell for this—Penny would've suggested half a dozen of them by now. I shut my eyes tightly, concentrating. 

**“Great minds think alike.“** I cast, hoping it doesn't go horribly wrong. 

For a moment, I think nothing's happened. (None of us sprouts a second head, so I think we're all good.)

Baz steps back, then, looking into my eyes. It's… intense. 

I exhale. “So?“ 

He frowns. _“Can you hear me?“_

I jump back a bit at the sound—wait, there's _no sound—_ of his voice. It's like he's whispering right by my ear. It makes my hairs stand on end. 

“Wicked,“ I breathe, laughing. “I can! I got it right.“ 

He huffs, exasperated _“Yes, Snow, congrats."_

I cross my arms. It always surprises me how quickly he can go back to being an arsehole. 

_“I can hear you as_ _well,"_ Baz says. _(Thinks?)_ I don't know how, even in thoughts, it sounds like he's sneering. 

“Okay, great to have this sorted out, mate,“ I say, trying to focus on the situation. “How do we get out of here?“

Baz frowns. _“You came here without a plan to get out?“_

“Yeah, well, you see,“ I start, taking a step closer to him. “I wouldn't have needed to come out at all if a certain someone would stop trying to get in trouble.“ 

He scowls, pushing me back by the shoulders. _“I didn't ask you to come.“_

“And what would have happened if I didn't?“ I shoot back. He shrugs. 

_“I needed to feed, or else I'd risk biting off your stupid face in the middle of the night,“_ he says. _“What's done is done.“_

“Was it worth it?“ I ask. “Could you feed, I mean?“ 

Baz looks at me grimly. _“You'd better keep your distance, Snow.“_

I sigh, feeling suddenly tired. All of this for nothing. 

He flops down onto the old mattress, wincing slightly and readjusting his leg. I approach, hesitantly. 

“Sorry for your leg,“ I mumble. “I tried to cast a healing spell on you.“ 

He nods. _“Don't worry about it—my leg was already injured before.“_ I know he's just thinking, but he keeps moving his lips, just a bit. It's kind of cute. _“What?“_

“What?!“ I ask, defensive. (Fuck. I keep forgetting he can hear me as well.) 

He looks away, but I can see the smirk tugging at his mouth. 

The sounds of the Isingere seem to have died out—they either gave up on finding us, or they're just outside the door, waiting for us to leave. 

“So, what _is_ this place? I mean, it was obviously a dungeon, but…“ 

_“I don't know, Snow. I had no idea Watford used to have dungeons. Maybe, after some time, they just… disappeared. Swallowed by the earth, or by magic._ “ 

“Who puts dungeons beneath a chapel?“ I ask, more to myself. Baz snorts. 

_“I really doubt we're still under the Chapel.“_

I shrug, sitting down beside him. “Anyway. What now?“ 

_"Now, we're fucked."_

**Baz**

They find us in a matter of minutes. There's nothing we can really do but wait here and hope they can't get through stone. (Or wood.) 

But they can still sing, and maybe that's _worse._

Frost takes over the walls as their deadly song progresses, and soon, our breaths are clouding in the cold air. The ice reaches my feet, making the ground slippery, filling the cracks between the stones. 

We're trapped here. Cornered. And all they need to do is sing and sing until we both freeze to death.

As for the moment, I'm magicless. I can feel my voice stuck in my throat like a lump, my vocal cords frozen with some kind curse. I can barely swallow past the icy feeling. 

I can't use my vampire strength or speed, either, because I'm too fucking weak. I'm not even worried about attacking Snow anymore; I can barely move my limbs. 

And Simon… well. 

His sword is broken _—how_ he managed to break the bloody Sword of Mages is beyond me. 

And, lastly, his magic is drying out. 

I don't know which of us is more shocked. I can't remember the last time Simon Snow ran out of magic—the Chosen One, who holds infinity in his chest pocket… 

I don't even know if it's _happened_ before.

 **“You're getting warmer!“** He tries again, to no avail. The cold doesn't retreat. He points my wand at his own face, examining it. “Baz, what if I broke it?“ 

I shake my head. _“You didn't,“_ I think. He doesn't look back at me, like he hasn't heard me. It's possible the spell he's cast before is already wearing out. 

(I was thrilled to know that, somehow, Snow can cast spells with my wand. Though it makes sense, I guess—our magics are compatible, after all.) (Still, it was… an experience. Watching him holding it all wrong. Pointing at his own face like the fucking numpty he is.) 

Now, though, he's either gone back to his usual incompetency with spells, or… the well is running dry. 

He groans, and for a moment, I'm afraid he'll smash my wand against the nearest surface. But he just lets it fall to the mattress. 

“What are we going to do?“ He asks, holding his head between his hands. His voice sounds hoarse, like he's caught a cold. 

I shrug, shivering. My teeth are clattering. He looks at me, worried. 

_“We wait,“_ I think, glumly. I'm not sure I've got much longer left.

He frowns. “I… I think I can't hear you anymore.“ 

I sigh. That's it, then. We're doomed. 

He points my wand at me again, casting warming spells. I feel the lightest touch of his magic—so it _is_ still there, just weak. Flicking like a lamp about to short-circuit. 

He swallows, clearing his throat, and tries again. **“Penny for your thoughts! Thinking out loud!“**

 _“What about now?“_ I try to think the loudest I can. Is that even a thing? (I suppose it is. My thoughts about Snow in the wee hours of morning always sound loud as a trumpet.) He shakes his head, frustrated. 

“I'm sorry,“ he says, sounding broken. “It's all my fault, Baz. If I wasn't so bad at—“ 

I interrupt him, crowding his space.

Snow's eyes widen as my fingers touch his neck, feather-light. The feeling of his pulse under my pads is tempting. I need this _so much—_ I haven't had blood in almost three days, and he already smells like a five-course meal on any normal day— 

I shake my head, trying to focus. This is not what I'm looking for. I look closer, running my fingers over his Adam's apple, into the dip of his throat. He swallows again, nervously, and there it is: a thin layer of ice covering his skin. 

I give him a meaningful look. He looks confused, touching his throat as well. His eyes widen when he feels it. 

“I—that thing hit me?!“ 

I nod. The Isinger started singing, I remember, just before Simon went off. It may not have been enough to freeze his voice completely—to put out the burning star that is his magic—but it did scratch it. 

He sighs, putting my wand down again. 

We just sit there, awkward, for a moment. The song is unrelenting. 

Suddenly, Snow scoots even closer to me, completely ignoring the danger of hugging a thirsty vampire. Because that's what he's doing now: with an arm around my shoulders and the other circling my hips, pulling me to him in an awkward position, Simon hugs me. 

I don't know how to react. My hands just hover over his back. 

“It's okay,“ he whispers, and a shiver runs through me. (Not from the cold, this time.) “We need to keep close if we want to survive.“ 

I snort. That must be the euphemism of the century. 

I need as much body heat as I can get. I have practically none myself, and my clothes aren't as thick as I need to keep warm. So, when Simon slots himself in my arms, I don't complain. 

We stay like this for some minutes, breathing each other in, our breaths fogging the air. He's so warm—he's always warm, but right now, it feels like hugging the personification of a summer's day. 

I'm starting to feel numb, though. My fingers are almost blue from the cold, and I can't feel my feet. Snow takes my hands between his, rubbing them together, trying to transfer some of his heat to me. I sigh. 

“Wait,“ he mumbles, pulling away from me. I miss him so fiercely, it feels like the ice has already reached my heart. “We need…“ he bites his lower lip and looks away, his cheeks blushing from the cold. “Baz… you trust me, right?“ 

I quirk an eyebrow at him. 

“Alright, I know. Just listen to me, okay?“ He starts, cautiously. “I need you to, um… take your clothes off.“ 

I almost choke on my own spit. He looks dead serious. 

**Simon**

Baz's eyes look about ready to fall from his face. 

“Hear me out,“ I say, though he's not saying anything. “I know what I'm doing, okay? It's the only thing we can do to survive… for now.“

I scratch the back of my neck, blushing furiously. This is the worst moment possible to have my magic weaken—by now, I should be hot enough to make the stones hiss under the heat. 

But I still have more body heat than he does, and he definitely needs it. Baz is normally cold, but this… 

I can get out of here with a cold or even hypothermia. Baz is going to literally freeze to death. 

Still, he shakes his head frantically. I can almost hear his voice saying _“no fucking way in hell, Snow,“_ or _“you're out of your useless mind.“_

“I'm serious,“ I say, starting to take my jacket off. “It'll be easier to warm you up if there's less clothing between us. Skin to skin contact—“ 

Baz shushes me with a look, trying to put distance between us. He doesn't go far, though; he can barely get up, stumbling farther over the mattress. 

He's _already_ freezing. His skin is literally covered in frost, his lips coloured purple. 

“C'mon, Baz, work with me here,“ I say, starting to take off my shirt. “Please. You have no body heat at all. I'm just trying to keep your fucking arse from freezing!“ 

He picks his wand up, and for a moment I think he'll try to spell me wordlessly—impossible, of course, but I don't put it past Baz—instead, he leans over the edge of the mattress, dragging the tip of his wand over the frost on the ground. 

_Stay away,_ he writes in faint, trembling letters on the stones.

“What?“ I stop, frowning at him. “Would you really rather freeze over—“ He nods, promptly. I grunt. “Fucking hell, Baz, just do it! Do you think _I_ want to do it?! We don't have to talk about it _ever again_ after this.“ 

Still, he shakes his head stoically. _We won't get out of here. Might die with dignity._

“You _won't_ die,“ I say, forcefully. “I won't let you. And we _will_ get out of here, whatever it takes!“ 

He just scowls at me, starting to write over the frost on the walls. _Why are you doing this?_

“Because—“ I stop, feeling the cold down to my bones. His eyes are shining, but no tears come down. I swallow my anger. “Because you're my roommate, Baz. And yeah, you can be a right git sometimes, but I'm not going to sit here and watch you die slowly when there's something _—anything—_ I can do.“ 

He looks at me a moment longer, expression unreadable. I'm starting to worry his face is frozen that way, when finally, he starts taking his jacket off. 

Merlin. This is really happening, then. 

**Baz**

The way Snow looks at me as I unbutton my shirt makes me question if he really wants this. 

I mean, _of course_ he doesn't. Not in the way I wish he would, anyway. He'll never want me like that. 

No. He just wants us both to survive. Supposedly. Though I don't see why. Why he'd go so out of his comfort zone for the sake of my survival. 

(Because it's really about me, isn't it? Snow doesn't need to _cuddle for warmth_ with me. If anything, I'll only steal his body heat.) 

After a moment, though, he seems to snap out of the stupor, finishing with his shirt and letting it fall down his elbows. His chest is exposed to me, his cross reflecting the dim light. He yanks it over his head and tosses it across the room, wordlessly.

We stare at each other awkwardly. _I'm not going to sit here and watch you die slowly,_ he said. Very well, then, let's see how far he'll go. 

I slide my belt off, watching his expression. All the times I've imagined this moment—and there were many—I always made a point to drag it out slowly, moving in ways that would make even someone as painfully straight as Snow blush. I'd make it sensual. I'd make it a show. 

I can't really do that now, because he's right; my arse _is_ starting to freeze. I can barely feel my feet when I slide them out of my shoes; my socks are frozen in place. Taking my trousers off physically hurts. 

(I know Snow is watching, and that's even worse. Definitely not how I wanted it to go. Crowley, he even looks concerned.) 

Eventually, though, I manage to strip myself off of them. Then, I stare at Simon, who's still staring at _me,_ and lift an eyebrow at him. 

I gesture to the lower half of his body. He blushes, then sputters, letting out a string of _oh'_ s and _um'_ s and _right'_ s. He fumbles with his trousers, almost tripping twice while trying to get them out—over his shoes. He gives up on untying the laces, just pulling them off brutally. His socks come next. 

If we were in a different situation, maybe I'd have the chance to look at his body, take him in. (I'd drink him in like nectar.) If he wanted that, obviously. If this wasn't purely a life or death situation.

He keeps glancing at me, and for once, I'm thankful for the freezing cold. It's the only thing keeping me from combusting. 

**Simon**

Jesus Christ. 

I mean. I _know_ Baz is fit—I've seen him on the football pitch before—but this… is very different from that. 

I can't stop looking at his abs, for some reason. Or at his thighs. Or at his legs. I think my brain is freezing. Or short-circuiting. Something like that.

Instead, I decide it's better to look up—that doesn't help much, either. Seriously, who has collarbones like _that?_

It takes me a minute to realise I should be taking my own clothes off, as well. (And that it's probably creepy to watch my roommate while he's undressing.) (Especially if his life depends on it.) 

It's even weirder because I've rarely seen him in any state of undress before, despite sharing a room with him for seven years. We never do this; undress while the other is in the room. Baz and I have always tried our best to avoid any displays of vulnerability around each other. 

Still, it's difficult to stop looking, now. Baz is bloody perfect, but _knowing_ and _witnessing_ are very different things. He looks like something out of a classic history book. Suddenly, I feel a lot warmer. 

_Merlin, do I_ fancy _Baz?_

I push the thought aside as I manage to get rid of my trousers, and finally, we're standing in front of each other in our boxers. He visibly shivers again, looking paler than ever. 

Right. I can do this—I _need_ to do this. Baz already looks like an ice statue; a little longer, and it won't make a difference. 

So, I gather my courage, and take some steps forward, closing the distance between us. I start trying to imagine he's Agatha—actually, scratch that. I don't need to imagine he's anyone else. I just want to keep him _—Baz—_ alive and safe.

His eyes widen as I approach, slowly, and press my body against his. 

**Baz**

_Aleister Crowley. Merlin, Morgana and Methuselah._ The list goes on. 

I can't believe this is happening—I must be hallucinating because of the cold, because there's no way this is real. 

Except it _feels_ real. Simon's chest pressed against mine, his ribs under my hands, his _heat—_ it's all too solid to be just my imagination. 

He's so warm it burns; I'm so cold it hurts. His heat envelopes me—he's got his face tucked in the crook of my neck, hot breath warming my skin. His hands keep running up and down my back, warming me up. I worry, for a moment, that I'll break under his hands just like his sword, too cold and too hot at the same time. 

But I don't. He's careful with me, trailing his hands over my arms almost tenderly, and then he pulls me back. To the mattress. 

I swear my heart stops beating the moment I lie down. And then, somehow, it fucking _explodes_ inside my chest when Simon lies beside me. 

**Simon**

I still don't know what's going through his head. I can only hope he's not too uncomfortable. That he won't hate me for this. 

We lie down on the age-old mattress, almost turning to dust beneath our bodies. There are a few inches between us, but I know this won't do. 

So I take our discarded clothes from the floor and cover us both with them as best as I can—the jackets over our shoulders, the shirts and trousers wrapped around our legs. 

I don't know what I'm feeling. It feels like there's a hurricane inside my chest, scattering everything around. I'm in a bed, somewhere under the school grounds. 

_I'm in a bed with a boy._

_I'm in a bed with_ Baz. 

I know it's only a temporary solution. Still, I get as close to him as I physically can, covering his body with mine. 

He lets out a soft whimper, and I stop, frozen in place. 

“Is—is this okay?“ I ask, pulling back a bit. His face is scrunched up like he's in pain. 

Still, he nods, and I rest my head on his shoulder again. 

It isn't so bad, overall. Except for the fact that he's _so fucking cold._

(Well, that's why we're doing this in the first place, I guess.)

I start running my hands over his chest, hesitantly. Every time I look at him quizzically, stopping the movement, he nods and puts my hands back on himself. His eyes are shut tight. 

I move my hand up and down—feeling his ribs, rubbing his belly, trying to warm him up somehow. He lets out these little sighs, and I hope they're a good sign. 

We're touching everywhere, from head to toe. Still, it doesn't feel so awkward as I expected it to. Maybe it's the Winter Sound affecting my thoughts. Maybe it's just my survival instinct kicking in—the stakes are too high to worry about those things, right now. 

(Maybe it's something else entirely, but I don't have time or energy to think about that now.) 

I can feel Baz's chest moving, very lightly, underneath mine. His breath is so faint, it doesn't even cloud the air anymore.

I frown, lifting myself closer to him. Frost clings to his eyelashes, covers his cheeks. I rub my face against his, our cheeks touching, until his skin feels a tad bit warmer, at least. He takes a deeper breath at that, as if suddenly more awake. 

“You can move, you know,“ I whisper in his ear. “You can take it. The warmth, I mean. I know you need more.“ 

He nods, eyes barely opening. Then, he _does_ what I told him to, so I don't know why it surprises me. 

It's probably the cold. The way he slides his feet against my calves, entangling our legs. But there's also something else about this—something that feels weirdly intimate, though less weird because this is _Baz._ It feels right, with him. 

Still, it's different from anything I've ever felt before. When his hands trail down my back, something warm blooms inside me. 

_Good,_ I think. Both because it _feels_ good, and because we need that right now. The warmth. 

I know Baz needs as much as I can give him, and I'm willing to give everything I have. 

**Baz**

It's possible I've died, and this is heaven. 

Simon Snow is lying on top of me, covering me like the world's warmest and most careful blanket. If I'm going to die here, today, I can't imagine a better way to go. 

I always thought everything would end in flames—it's always fire when it comes to us. I didn't expect to freeze to death in an old dungeon in the depths of the Catacombs, under the weight of my sworn enemy, who also happens to be the boy I'm in love with. 

Crowley, it's sure a charmed life, isn't it? 

Especially now, with my eyes closed, when I can pretend the situation isn't what it really is. That we're not doing this only for the sake of survival, but because we both want it. 

That Simon's hands all over my skin are loving and not desperate. (Well, maybe a _bit_ desperate, but in a different way.) That when he rests his forehead against mine, his breath warm on my face, or when he rubs our cheeks together, it's out of tenderness. That he feels at least a fraction of what I feel. 

A man can dream, can't he? Especially on his deathbed. 

I can feel myself slipping away already. Dozing off to Snow's breathing, to the feeling of his skin against mine, to his sweet words mumbled against my forehead. 

_“Baz. You need to stay awake. Hey, Baz, stay here with me.“_

**Simon**

I shake his shoulders, a bit too forcefully. I don't want to hurt him, but I'm afraid he's getting away from me. I'm afraid that, the moment he gives in to sleep, he won't wake up ever again. 

I can't even think about that possibility. 

“C'mon, Baz,“ I repeat, trying to make my voice louder, but it's too hoarse. I cradle the back of his neck, slipping my fingers into his hair. I try to lift his head. “I need you to stay with me. _Please.“_

I'm starting to panic. He's too weak—too far gone. I can't lose him. I _can't._

“Please, Baz,“ I say again, and it comes out as a sob, “I _need_ you. You, you—“ This shouldn't be the end. _It shouldn't end like this._ I don't want things to end at all. “You can't leave me like this!“ 

He opens his eyes, slowly. 

**Baz**

I can see him, but he's blurred around the edges, and not so beautiful as I saw him in my dream. Not golden and bathed in sunlight. He's paler than normal, his freckles almost disappearing, and there's a concerned look on his face. 

_“What?“_ I try to ask, but my voice remains stuck in my throat.

He huffs a laugh, then, relieved. His breath is warm against my face. 

“Baz…“ I can't understand what he says next. It's like my ears are full of cotton. I frown, confused. “You do. Please, take it.“ 

_“What?“_ I try again, moving my lips.

“Blood,“ he says, lifting himself above me. “You're freezing from the inside out, Baz. You won't survive without blood.“ 

Then, he bares his neck to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr at [nightimedreamersworld!](https://nightimedreamersworld.tumblr.com/)


	3. And you scream, you scratch, you bite, you prey on my heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Biting with a sprinkle of mutual trust between enemies (?) Because I'm a sucker for biting fics. (Ha! A sucker. Sorry, I had to wait a month to make this pun lol)  
> (TW for this chapter: very brief depictions of self-harm, for the purpose of drawing blood for a certain vampire to drink; you know how it goes)  
> Enjoy!

**Simon**

His eyes widen as soon as the words leave my mouth. His pupils focus for a minute before unfocusing once more

“You need to drink blood, Baz,“ I say again, more firmly. “You can drink mine.“ 

He doesn't look at me, but I know he understands me now. His jaw is clenched, and he's purposefully avoiding my eyes. I jut my chin out. 

“You're going to die if you don't do this, you stubborn brat,“ I say, getting ready for a fight. I sit back on my heels, looking around. _I'm sure I left it here somewhere—_

He shakes his head resolutely, using the opportunity to pull himself away from me. My fingers close around cold metal, and here it is. 

I inspect the Sword of Mages—what's left of it, anyway. The blade was completely destroyed, but there are still some sharp shards attached to the hilt. Enough to break skin. 

Baz actually hisses when I drag it across my palm—blood pools there, stark red and warm. I hold my hand out to him.

“Take it,“ I say. “Just get on with it, Baz.“ 

He keeps shaking his head, pulling away until his back is flush against the wall. Despair tugs at my heart.

 _“Please,“_ I try again. “I know you need it, Baz. And I know you won't hurt me, no matter what happens.“ 

Some of the blood slides through my fingers, dripping onto the ground. He keeps staring at me. At my bloody hand. 

I hold my breath as he approaches me again, slowly, hesitantly. He takes my hand between his palms like it's something precious—for him, I suppose it is. Up close, I can see that his fangs popped so forcefully, they left bruises on his lips. 

His lips, which are now touching my skin. 

I'm not breathing. 

**Baz**

I've always wondered what Simon's blood would taste like. 

Butter and fresh-baked goods. Bacon and cinnamon. Something I'd gladly eat. 

I never thought I'd really get to taste it. Not even in my darkest fantasies, when I imagined myself lunging for his throat while his sword pierced my heart. 

And here I am, now. Only some drops of the Chosen One's blood, and I feel myself coming back to life. The faintest warmth creeps into me, rolling over my tongue and down my throat, lighting up my insides. 

And it's over far too soon. 

_“More,“_ Snow grunts, demanding, like _he_ is the vampire. “You need more.“ 

I give him an icy glare. _“No.“_

It's not a proper word—I still can't speak. But it's a sound, coming from deep in my throat. A scratch, and it almost hurts, and it's _intelligible._

Simon frowns, surprised. _“Yes._ You need it, Baz.“ He puts pressure on his hand, blood pooling once again on his sliced palm. My fangs hurt, almost throbbing. “Just take it—it's no big deal. Really.“ 

I scoff. The effort it takes to not grab his wrist and bury my fangs in his flesh makes me tremble. _No big deal—_ this could cost him his life.

Still, the beautiful nightmare pushes his hand up to my face. I jerk back, but I know it's useless. I'm dying for it, literally—for his blood, for his warmth. It's killing me not having him closer. 

So I take his blood again—another sip, and it should be enough. 

Except it isn't—for neither of us, apparently. Next thing I know, Simon Snow is pushing me back into the mattress, hovering over me once again. 

“Baz,“ he starts, breathless, and I already know I'm going to hate his next words. “You need to bite me.“ 

**Simon**

He's looking at me like I'm mad. Maybe I am. 

“No,“ he says again, more rasp than word. The sound makes me wince. 

“Please, Baz,“ I plead again. I should probably let this go, but I can't—not when his life's on the line. “Listen. We don't know how vampire bites work. Even if you bite me, maybe I won't be Turned. Also,“ I give him a meaningful look, “I trust you, Baz. I know you don't want to hurt me; that you _won't.“_

He looks at me, obviously gauging the situation. His lips are stained with my blood. 

“Baz,“ I say, softly this time. “I… I don't want you to _die.“_

He frowns, then, and when I approach him again, leaning into him, he doesn't push me away. 

I hesitate. “We're in a truce, remember? We cast **An Englishman's word is his bond.** It won't let you hurt me.“ 

**Baz**

We don't know much about vampire bites, indeed, but I happen to know that Turning is not instantaneous, as I used to think. 

No. There's more to Turning than a bite. Still, it's too risky. I'm too thirsty. (I'm _always_ thirsty for Snow.) I could lose control. I could kill him. 

...But then again, he isn't all that fragile. If Simon trusts me, I should trust him, too. Trust that he'll stop me if it gets too much. Even after getting some of his blood, I'm still too cold, too weak—surely he'd be able to.

And he's so close… and warm. And he smells delicious, and I'm in love with him. 

I bring my face closer to his neck. He's even warmer here. I nose at his skin there, breathing him in, sighing. 

We just stay like that for a moment. “I… I'll tell you. If I need you to stop,“ Simon says, his voice quivering. I nod against his neck. 

Then, I let my fangs drag against his skin; softly, at first. His breath hitches. I can feel his pulse under my tongue. 

I sink my teeth into the soft flesh in the point where his neck and shoulder meet. 

**Simon**

_Oh._

**Baz**

_...Oh._

**Simon**

Baz is biting me. 

I don’t know what I expected it to feel like. (Merlin, have I thought about this before?) It hurts a bit, in the beginning. They’re sharp, after all. His fangs. It feels like needles sinking into my neck. After a moment, though...

The pain fades quickly, leaving just a numb feeling in its place. It spreads through my whole body, and suddenly, I feel light. Almost happy, like I don’t have a care in the world. A weak sound leaves my mouth, and I feel myself going limp against Baz. 

Is this his venom in my bloodstream? Because I know I should be worried—I know there are things out there trying to kill us, and that Baz, my evil vampire roommate, is essentially sucking my blood. And yet… 

I feel relaxed. Contented. I sink into the feeling of his mouth against my neck, of his arms around my body. Somehow, I know everything's going to be fine, because Baz is here and he’s going to survive. Because he’s not all that evil, anyway. He’s just a boy. Just my roommate. Just… 

(Not just. _More._ He’s so much more.)

**Baz**

Before, I thought I had died. 

I thought I had reached some kind of heaven. 

Nothing compares to this. 

_This_ is what being alive feels like. 

His blood flowing on my tongue steadily; his skin against mine. 

It's searing. It feels like catching fire, _melting,_ like being lit up from the inside. Everything burns—the hot, the cold.

I was afraid… 

I was afraid of losing myself to bloodlust. Instead, though, I'm just lost in _Simon._ In his scent, in his warmth, in the feeling of his skin against mine. In the taste of his blood in my mouth and his heart pounding against my chest.

Still, I need more—more of him. 

I let my hands wander up and down his back, cup the nape of his neck. I take what I can get. 

**Simon**

Baz grabs me by the back of the neck, his nails scratching my scalp as he holds me still. He’s probably trying to grab my hair, but I’ve got a buzz cut back there. Laughter bubbles out of me, surprising us both, and he pulls back. 

(I actually whine when he does. It’s embarrassing.) 

He looks at me, concerned, and the sight of him makes something churn inside my belly. His eyebrows are pulled together, and there’s the faintest blush coloring his cheeks. A droplet of blood _—my blood—_ rolls down his chin. His pupils are blown wide and he looks _alive._

(...And lovely. Bloody Merlin, he looks so lovely.) 

I really don’t know how to describe the feeling that takes over me. It’s not the venom this time; I can already feel the haze fading, giving room to the freezing cold and the danger looming over us. Still, this new feeling is warm, and familiar. It persists, making me feel safe in his arms. 

Baz lifts an eyebrow at me. I can almost hear him asking _“All right, Snow?“_

“I’m fine,“ I say, nodding. My voice is thick, like I’ve just woken up. Then, a large smile takes over my face. “See? Nothing happened. You pulled back, Baz.“ 

He smiles back at me, then, looking up in awe. I cup his cheek. “You… you can take more, if you still need it.“

**Baz**

_You don't get it, Simon Snow._

I need you, all of you. 

**Simon**

He licks at that spot on my neck once, twice, catching the remaining droplets of blood before they slide down. The sensation is weird, but good. His tongue on my neck. 

_Baz Pitch is licking my neck._ Fucking Merlin could never have imagined it. 

Something weird happens, then. It takes me a minute to process what it is; my brain is too muddled because of the cold and Baz's venom, but eventually, I catch up. 

His lips—still a bit stained with my blood—pressed to my chin. Then, they're moving along my jaw, pressing briefly against my temple. Then, under my eye. On my cheek. The tip of my nose. 

I'm paralysed. I don't know what to do—this has never happened before, whatever _this_ is. The way Baz is looking at me now makes me think he's seeing someone else. Because there's no way Baz Pitch would ever look at _me,_ of all people, like that. 

He pulls back a bit, looking into my eyes. There's a question in them, something I know he can't put into words. He leans forward, his lips softly brushing mine. 

I close the gap and smash our mouths together. 

**Baz**

Simon Snow is kissing me. 

_Aleister Crowley._

If I thought his body was hot, nothing could have prepared me for his mouth. For his breath against my face. 

Snow kisses like he fights; just like I hoped he would. When he pushes, I push back. It's sloppy, but perfect. Soft, but hot. Everything is hot. I wonder how long I'll burn before all that’s left of me is ashes. 

**Simon**

Kissing Baz is rougher than I thought it would be. 

(Yes, apparently I've thought about this, as well.) 

Our lips move together clumsily at first, and it makes me wonder if this is his first kiss. I might ask him, later, if we survive. If we get to do this again. 

I definitely want to do it again, and I haven't even stopped to breathe since we started. After a few moments, though, it starts getting more and more heated: I bite down on his lower lip, pulling a bit, and he groans, the kind of feral sound I never thought could come from _Baz._

And I like it. Maybe I like it too much. 

When I throw my arms around Baz's neck, the terrible Winter Sound is drowned out. 

**Baz**

“I want you to bite me again,“ Snow stops his assault on my neck briefly enough to pant against my ear. I nod, frantically, nosing at his neck. “Wait. Not there. Here.“ 

He lifts his wrist up to my face, and I kiss just above his pulse point before biting there. 

Snow tucks his face into the crook of my neck. I can feel his cheek hot against my shoulder; almost feverish. He's facing away from me. 

I pull my fangs back, instead just licking the bite and taking the last droplets of blood.

When I release it, Simon's hand settles on my chest, over my heart. 

**Simon**

It feels like I'm about to go off, but… it's different. 

Not like destruction, but something else. Something equally powerful; if not _more._

Everything happening right now is too much. I don't know what to do with all this heat building up inside of me. The light threatens to spill out, blinding, possibly fatal. 

So I do the only thing I can think of— 

I push it into Baz. 

**Baz**

I feel the surge of magic like a lightning bolt. 

It spreads from my heart, to my arms, to my head and legs and feet and hands. 

I'm _alight._ I know I am; Simon's magic travels through my body as his blood travels through my veins, and I feel complete. The cold is a distant memory. 

When we pull back, looking at each other, there's something indescribable in his eyes. Something like— 

_Almost_ as if _—_

Simon kisses me again, and my brain shuts down. 

We roll around on the mattress as best as we can under the pile of discarded clothing. Then, I take the opportunity to kiss every inch of his neck I couldn't reach before. While I trail kisses along his jaw, Snow's fingers push into my hair. 

_"Simon,“_ I breathe against his skin. 

I don't know how long it takes us to realise there's anything different. 

“Snow,“ I say, pulling back, at the same time he shouts _“Your voice!“_

We stare at each other, laughing incredulously, and then he kisses me again, quickly. 

“You're a fucking miracle, Snow,“ I say, breathless. My voice sounds hoarse and raspy. The way he's beaming at me makes my heart jump, boldly. “I've been in love with you for years.“ 

His eyes widen, then, I realise what I just said. 

Fuck. 

**Simon**

Baz is in love with me. 

_Baz._ Has been _in love_ with _me_ for _years._

I don't know—I thought—well… 

I thought it was just the cold, and the blood, and, and… 

Things that will be over after we leave this dungeon. After Baz put his clothes—his armour—back on. After we forget, as per our agreement, everything that happened here today. 

But the way he's looking at me… 

And his words. 

_(Baz Pitch is in love with me.)_

For some reason, I want to sing those words from the tops of my lungs for everyone to hear. 

I want to chant them from rooftops and make it known to the whole school—to the whole World of Mages.

I don’t even care what the others might think. Not as long as Baz continues looking at me like that. Like I mean something to him. Something _important._

His look has changed, though. What was awe before is now uncertainty. Like he didn't mean to say it aloud. 

I don't care. Those words are mine now; I won't give them back for anything in the world. 

And if he thinks I’m ever going to let things go back to the way they were… he’s just wrong. 

He opens his mouth, probably intending to ruin everything, but I don’t let him. Instead, I pull him back to me, our mouths crashing together over and over again. 

**Baz**

Everything is warm, inside and out of me. 

I don’t understand how this is possible. That Simon Snow is kissing me and holding onto my shoulders tightly, like he’s a man adrift and I’m the shore. Like he needs it— _me_ —to breathe. 

There’s a forest fire growing inside my chest. 

It’s then that I realise, in between heated kisses, that the cold is gone. 

I look around, pushing Snow’s face from mine so that I can actually see (and breathe). He occupies himself with my neck soon enough, but at least now I can take a look at the room. 

The frost is gone from the walls, and the stones on the ground are damp. 

“Simon,“ I say, softly. He hums against my neck, which doesn’t help my concentration in the slightest. “Snow,“ I nudge him on the side, “look. The ice is gone.“ 

_“What?“_ He sits up, confused. “What happened?“

“I think _you_ happened,“ I say. I look down at my limbs, still functional despite everything. “Did you go off?“ 

“I… no?“ Snow blinks at me, obviously confused. “I mean, there was a moment I thought I was going to, but then I pushed the excess magic into… you.“ 

I can’t help the smile that takes over my face. I can still feel his searing power washing over me. 

But then, I understand. 

“The warmth,“ I say, urging him to sit up. I’m just now looking at him properly, avoiding the distracting sight of his bare chest. “I thought that was just you being close, but the song actually… stopped.“ 

His eyes widen. The Winter Sound no longer echoes through the stone walls. 

“Do you… do you think I…?“ 

“What were you thinking?“ I ask. 

“...What?“ 

“What were you _thinking,_ Simon?“ 

“Well, I guess I wasn’t, for the most part,“ he laughs, blushing a bit. “But I just… I just really wanted to keep you warm.“

My breath hitches at that. And because of the way he’s looking at me. He starts leaning forward again, his lips an inch away from mine, when I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

“Wait,“ I say. “We should... take a look outside.“ 

He frowns. “What if they’re still out there?“ 

“There’s only one way to find out.“

We get dressed (which feels like waking up), I grab my wand, holding it firmly as we open the door. 

There’s no one in the corridor. 

“What…“ Simon mumbles, walking past me. He looks around. “Hey, Baz, come see this.“ 

I step out, warily. 

The stones in the corridor are damp just like the ones inside the room. That’s all there’s left of the frost. 

It’s almost impossible to imagine this place was an ice gallery just an hour ago. 

“Where do you think they went?“ He asks, still frowning. 

“Probably the farthest they could get from you."

We continue through the dark corridors, lighting up the torches on the walls on our way. My voice is still raw, hoarse—still, I don't really need to speak to perform this kind of magic. I can make fire with my own hands. 

There are no cold shivers or clouded breathing anymore. 

Simon holds my hand all the way back through the labyrinth of chambers, his magic buzzing pleasantly underneath my skin, going back and forth between us. By now, it’s spread through all of my body, and I can actually feel my limbs again. 

We walk slowly. We’re both exhausted, and there’s a chance I’ll collapse the moment I let go of him. 

(I never want to let go of him.) 

We finally get to the wall of detritus. Snow well and truly blew up the damn entrance. 

“How are we going to…?“ 

But he’s already moving; crouching down and picking up sharp shards of metal from the ground. My heart leaps. “Simon…?“ 

“Do you think it can be fixed?“ He asks, holding the remnants of the Sword of Mages preciously. 

“I don’t know; but if there’s anyone who can fix it… it’s you.“ I squeeze his hand, reassuring. 

He nods, then, turning to the blocked tunnel. I feel his magic coursing through me again, but faster this time, purposefully; it’s no longer the soft current of a stream, but a racing river. 

I know what to do. 

I lift my wand, clear my throat, and then cast **As you were**. I almost doubt, while the words leave my mouth, that it’s going to work.

But it _does_ work, flawlessly. And the effect is even more powerful than I anticipated. Such is the magic Snow imbues into me. We watch in silence as the stones lift, one by one, going back to their secular places of origin, as the building rebuilds itself. 

We exchange a meaningful glance before heading out into the snowstorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for your enthusiasm about this fic! The last chapter will be out tomorrow.  
> You can always find me on Tumblr at [nightimedreamersworld](https://nightimedreamersworld.tumblr.com/)


	4. And I know that you and I can never be a-part

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. The end. The quiet after the snowstorm... Or is it?  
> COC Day 27 - Snowstorm.

**Simon**

The next day, after several hours of sleep, Baz and I wake up tangled in each other’s arms. 

Well, at least that’s what I expected. The reality is much less romantic. (And a bit heartbreaking, to be honest.) 

He doesn't look me in the eyes. Actually, as soon as he’s properly conscious, Baz heads out of our room under the excuse of seeing the nurse. 

I give him the space he needs, though. I kind of need some time to myself, as well. To… process everything that happened yesterday. 

People are talking, now. No one noticed we were both missing, and it’s probable no one even suspects what we did, or how. 

When we walked out of the Catacombs, it was still dark, and the storm was still raging. As we walked back to the dorm, though, I noticed something weird: it was like Baz and I were inside a bubble of summer; footprints of melted snow and green grass underneath trailed our path, and the snow falling furiously from the sky turned to rain just before touching us. 

I remembered what Penny said, then. I think Baz did, too, because he looked at me meaningfully and held my hand tighter. 

Not one of the Isingere dared to try and touch us. 

This morning, they were all gone. Penny practically burst into the room as I was waking up, startling Baz and I (though there was already half a room of distance between us then). She couldn’t believe it when we told her what happened. 

(Most of it anyway. We just decided to omit some details, like the making out part. Or the cuddling.) 

Now, Penny thinks my magic weakened them, somehow, even though I didn’t cast any spells. There’s still a fog covering the school grounds, but it’s dissipating quickly. 

After breakfast, Penny drags me to the infirmary as well, saying I should’ve gone there before anything else. 

I expect to find Baz there, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Instead, we bump into someone else. 

“How’s she doing?” I ask the nurse, standing beside Ebb’s bed. She’s pale, and I can’t tell if she’s sleeping or unconscious. 

“She woke up sometime during the night,” nurse Grace answers. “She’s doing better now, though she was disoriented and a bit delirious when she woke up. She kept repeating ‘summer is here’, that sort of thing.” 

Penny and I stare at each other, frowning.

“Do you think Ebb could feel my magic? All the way up here?” 

“I don’t know, but it’s possible. It’s happened before.” 

I nod, absentmindedly, while the nurse instructs me to sit on one of the beds and take my jacket off. 

I freeze, then. “I—erm, if it’s possible, I’d rather not—”

“Don’t be shy, Simon, I just need to take a look at you. To make sure you don’t have hypothermia or any injuries caused by the cold.” 

“It’s been hours,” I tell her, stepping back. “I don’t have hypothermia.” 

Penny frowns at me. Nurse Grace always takes care of me when I come back from missions—she’s seen me survive worse things than frostbite, and I usually trust her. 

This situation is different, though. Because I _know_ I don’t have hypothermia or frostbite, but I do have another kind of bruise. The kind I should probably keep a secret. 

“Simon…” 

“I’m going to be fine,” I tell them, reassuring. “I just... need some rest. Yeah, that’s it.” 

I walk out of the Infirmary then, with Penny following shortly after. 

“Simon, what was that?” She asks. I start walking faster. 

“What was what?” 

_“That._ You’ve never been self-conscious around her. Or around me. What happened?”

I sigh. “A lot of things happened.” 

She stops, then, grabbing my arm. I turn to look at her, knowing this is a lost cause. Penny never lets anything go. 

“You’re hiding something,” she says. It’s not a question. “Tell me.” 

I feel my face boiling with embarrassment. After looking around quickly to make sure there’s no one within earshot, I hold my hand out to her, rolling up the sleeve of my uniform to reveal my left wrist. 

She touches my skin, puzzled, then gasps.

 _“Simon,_ what?” 

“Keep it down,” I say, covering my wrist again. “It’s not what you’re thinking.” 

She gapes at me for a moment before recollecting herself. “Wait. Just… Simon, is this—“ she lowers her voice then, looking around like I did. “—is this a vampire bite?” 

I give her a curt nod, and her jaw seems to be about to unhinge by the way she’s gaping at me.

“What— _how?”_

“Baz needed blood,” I reply, shrugging.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” she starts, and I snort. “You let Basil— who, by the way, is _really_ a vampire—drink _your_ blood?” 

“...Yes. It’s simple, actually.” 

Penny shakes her head, looking a bit bewildered. 

“I don’t get it. I mean, I never really thought he was a vampire, but you…” she narrows her eyes at me, then. “Are you under some kind of thrall?” 

“What? _No._ I offered it.“ I scratch the back of my neck, then. “Actually, I… might have insisted, a bit. That he took it.” 

She looks at me, disbelieving. “Simon, is there anything else you want to tell me?” 

I laugh, blushing a bit. “Maybe. But not right now.” 

She doesn’t press it this time. 

*******

Baz doesn’t come back until after lunch. 

“Where were you?” I ask as soon as he’s back to our room. The look he gives me—like I’m something nasty he's just stepped on—sends a pang through my heart. 

Not happy to see me, then. 

“The nurse,” Baz sneers. “Obviously.” 

“Really? Because I didn’t see you there,” I shoot back, sharply. 

“Already back to stalking me, Snow?” He asks, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. 

“Well, you’re already back to being an arsehole, apparently, so I'd say we're even.” 

Baz's sneer turns into a grimace. “It’s all back to normal, then.” 

“Yes. I mean, _no.”_ I suppress a frustrated groan. “Listen, I just asked because I was worried about you, Baz!”

He scoffs, stopping in the process of undoing his tie. “The Chosen One, worrying about _me?_ Don’t you have anything else to do? No other dark creatures to pester?” 

This time, the groan slips past my lips. “Stop it!” 

“Stop what?” 

“Stop ignoring what happened!” I say, feeling my face heat up all of a sudden. “Stop acting like nothing has changed.” 

He turns to me, then. “Nothing has changed.” 

“...What?” 

“I said,” he takes a step towards me, “that nothing has changed, Snow. What in that statement isn’t clear to you?” 

“B-but, but…” I splutter, searching his face, looking for anything beyond that icy glare. “I saved your life!” 

“Congratulations!” He smirks. “Do you want a medal or something?” 

I set my jaw, then, approaching him until we’re chest to chest. “What’s your fucking problem, Baz?!” 

“At the moment, it’s you,” he sneers, crossing his arms over his chest. 

_Is this it, then?_ I want to shout. First, he says he’s in love with me; then, he denies everything? 

His condescing smirk is a bright, clear-as-day _yes._

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, trying to knock his mask of indifference down. 

“Because that was part of our agreement, wasn’t it?” He says, lifting an eyebrow at me. _“‘We don’t have to talk about it ever again’,_ if I’m not mistaken. Your words, not mine.” 

“I… I didn’t really mean that!” I bluster. “I mean, I _did,_ but I, well, I—I don’t anymore, okay?!” 

“But I do,” he says, coldly. “Now, if you’ll let me be—”

“Baz, wait.” I grab his arm when he tries to walk around me. “I don’t want to forget what happened.” 

He stares at me, finally rendered speechless. I don’t have time to bask in this small victory before he’s sneering again. “And why wouldn’t you?” 

“Because…” I hesitate, weighing my words, trying to make sense of the feelings swirling inside my chest. “Because I like this, Baz. I like it better than fighting.” 

For a moment, I think I’ve finally got him. But then, Baz shakes his head, his lips forming a thin, resolute line. 

“There’s no _this,_ Snow.” 

And then he leaves. 

**Baz**

It’s useless to hide, but I do it anyway. Well, at least I try to. 

Snow has seen all of me already, metaphorically and literally. I guess these are my last efforts to get some of that back. 

I say none of what happened down in the Catacombs meant anything. I blame it on the cold, on my delirious state of bloodlust, so much so that I can almost believe it myself. But I still can’t seem to fool Snow. He won’t let me get away so easily. 

I don’t think he fully understands what this means for us—for _me,_ I have to keep reminding myself. Because Snow can take whatever he wants from me, no feelings involved. I’m doomed to having my heart broken sooner rather than later. 

This morning, when Fiona came to take me to our family’s trusted nurse, I almost told her. Crowley, I almost told her everything a dozen times—about my stupid, hopeless love for Snow. And today, I almost told her about his stupid, selfless heroism, trying to keep me alive, to the point of offering his own blood for me to drink. 

But I didn’t. I think she’d tease me about Snow—after a long lecture on why we should _not_ fall so easily on the enemy's bed. The blood part, though…

I’m not sure she’d be so understanding. 

I know I wouldn’t. I’m not—I still haven’t looked myself in the mirror since yesterday. I don’t want to see if I look any different; if the transition from _reluctant vampire_ to _actual monster_ is visible. 

I keep trying to tell myself it was because of the cold. Because of the Thirst. But I know that’s not true—no, biting Snow is something I’ve wanted to do for years. I’ve wanted so much, I thought it would kill me. 

It probably would've, had I attempted something like that before. Had Snow’s sword not been broken, and his brain not frozen.

Or at least that’s what I thought, at first. Seriously, _who_ in their right mind lets a vampire bite them? _Twice,_ even. 

But then he came to me with that _“I don’t want to forget what happened”_ talk. Proof that Snow is not only selflessly heroic, but also a bloody _idiot._

...Or maybe that’s part of his plan. Knowing how the tables turn, it isn’t impossible that Snow is the one plotting this time. Now that he knows how I feel, he’s going to kill me with heartbreak. 

(And because I’m incurably in love with him, I can’t stop repeating his words in my head. _I like this better than fighting._ Stupid Snow.) 

It doesn't matter. After the holidays are over, by the time we come back, Snow will probably be over it. Some days in front of Wellbelove’s cozy fireplace must be enough to make him forget everything. 

I just have to endure another hour, then it’s over. 

I wander the school grounds while I wait for my father to come pick me up, completely unaware of what I did last night. Pretending there’s nothing wrong with me, as usual. The thought is almost comforting. 

I do my best to avoid Snow—to avoid everyone, actually. I’m tempted to go down to the Catacombs, which is what I’d usually do, but I don’t want to push my luck. 

Eventually, I have to go back to our room, though, even if it’s just to pack my things and take a shower. 

Snow is there, waiting for me. 

“Baz,” he says, standing when I enter the room. I ignore him. “Baz, we should talk.” 

“What do we have to talk about?” I snap, mindlessly picking clothes from the wardrobe and throwing them into my suitcase. 

Snow growls. Always a bad sign. “Can you just listen?” 

“I’m listening.” 

“Well, then, I wanted to tell you that I’m not going to give up.” 

I don’t say anything. If I give Snow an ounce of acknowledgement, he might not let me go. _Literally._

“You can keep ignoring me.” He goes on, and I can feel him approaching me. I can hear his heartbeat, feel the heat radiating from his body. He’s well riled up. “But that doesn’t mean nothing happened.” 

I sigh, feeling the last of patience melt inside me. I turn to glare at him. 

“Since you’re too daft to take the hint, Snow, I’ll spell it out to you.” I look right into his eyes, then. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. Can you _please_ forget it and leave me alone now?” 

He blushes and splutters, swallows showily; the whole Snow production, just for me. If I wasn’t so angry I’d probably be swooning. 

“But! But you said—” 

“It doesn’t matter what I said, Snow,” I cut him off. “I was fucking _dying._ I’d have never bitten you if I had another choice—or if I could think properly.” 

He sets his jaw, and I can see the faintest bruise there, at the junction— I did that to him, yesterday. 

“That’s literally the whole _point,_ Baz! We did what was needed to save you. I don’t get why you’re being such a git about it.” 

“Of course you don’t get it!” I almost shout, throwing composure out the window. _“You_ haven’t been a fucking monster your whole life. _You_ don’t have to deal with the weight of becoming _even more monstrous_ overnight!”

He gapes at me, shaken. “You’re not a monster, Baz.” 

“Am I not?” I laugh, bitterly. “Isn’t that what you’ve been saying for _years,_ Snow? You’ve finally got me, now. You have proof that I’m a fucking bloodsucker, and even better, that I’ve drank _human blood.”_

“Just because you needed to!” He shoots. “Because you were going to _die_ without it, and I couldn’t let that happen!” 

I shake my head, trying to hold back my tears. “I crossed a line I was never supposed to, Simon. I could’ve hurt you—Crowley, I could’ve _killed_ you. Or Turned you.” 

“Yeah, but you didn’t!” He gets even closer, reaching up to wipe angry tears from my face. “Look at me, Baz. I’m just _fine._ And look at yourself—you’re _alive._ Do you think I care about anything else?” 

“...I care,” I whisper, closing my eyes. I can’t take it anymore. Not the way he’s looking at me—like I’m breaking. 

Like he’s finally realising how easily he can break me. 

**Simon**

Baz is shaking, letting out soft sounds that sound too much like sobs, and I don’t know what to do. 

So I do exactly what I did yesterday: I pull his face into the crook of my neck and wrap my arms around him. 

I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to do. Maybe I’m just about to make the same mistake for the second time. Maybe this will only make everything worse. 

Yesterday, Baz was so vulnerable, so I tried to make myself vulnerable, too. I stripped off my clothes and bared my neck to him. I let him take my blood, and my magic. I opened myself like a tap and poured into him in multiple senses. 

I gave him everything, and maybe it was too much.

Now, though, he doesn’t push me away immediately, so I press myself closer to him and rub his back. He inhales shakily, nosing at my neck. 

I guess he realises what he’s doing, because then he tries to push me away, but I hold him tighter. 

“To me, you’re still the same, Baz,” I tell him, softly. 

“The same plotting roommate?” He asks, sharply, pulling back. “The same vampire? _Nemesis?”_

“The same _Baz.”_ I look up at him, cupping his cheek. “Feeding to survive doesn’t make you a monster,” I say. “Besides, it didn’t feel half bad.” 

He frowns at me, then. I blush, shrugging. 

“You can’t be serious,” he snuffles. 

“I am. I really am, Baz.” I hold his face with both hands, now. I can feel myself blushing, and there’s a faint colour taking over his cheeks, as well. “I… quite liked it, actually. I like _you.”_

Baz takes a deep breath, looking up, like he can’t bear to look at me anymore. "You're such an idiot, Simon Snow." 

Then, he lunges forward and kisses me. 

I realise, with my heart thumping hard, that his lips against mine feel familiar now, and as good as they did yesterday. I couldn’t care less about the salty tears intruding between our lips, or about his runny nose. 

And then I stop thinking at all, because I’ve got Baz Pitch’s tongue in my mouth and I’m lost to the sensation. 

*******

I’m pretty sure we could spend the whole afternoon snogging if it wasn’t for Mr. Grimm’s terrible timing. 

Thankfully, he just calls Baz to let him know that he’s waiting down there. (I _knew_ he had an illegal phone hidden here somewhere.) We’re forced to stop, then, lying beside each other while we try to catch our breaths. 

Baz has got one hand up my shirt, now resting over my stomach. Both of mine are currently tangled in his hair, and I’ve tucked my face on the crook of his neck, breathing him in while I try to calm down. (It doesn’t help much, to be honest, but I’m not strong enough to pull away.)

“Come to Hampshire with me,” Baz mumbles, kissing a spot just below my eye. I think there’s a mole there. 

“I’d like to, but…” I bite my lip, hesitant. “How am I going to explain this to the Mage?” 

Baz looks at me skeptically. “Do you really need to report everything to him?” 

I shrug, laughing lightly. “Right, yeah. That would be the easier part to explain, actually.” 

He snorts, muttering _“idiot”_ against my cheek. I can’t stop smiling. 

His phone rings again, and we both sigh. 

“Come on, Snow,” he gets up, and I pout. 

“You called me Simon before.” 

“Did I?” I swear to Merlin, that quirked eyebrow does things to me. “Are you coming or not?” 

“Is it true that your house is haunted?” 

A smirk. “Yes.” 

“Can I sleep in your room, then?” I try to do that sexy thing he does with his eyebrows, but it just earns me a snort. 

“Afraid of ghosts, Snow?” 

“...Maybe?” 

Baz laughs, wetly, his expression clear and open. I love it. I love the way his lips are coloured from all the kissing, and even the way his eyes are still a bit puffy. 

I wish I could tell him all that. I wish I could make him understand that he’s not a monster. But considering I was the one telling him that all these years, it’s probably hard for him to believe me. 

Baz stares at me, eyebrows pulled up. He’s holding out a hand, expectant. I smile, taking it and getting up. 

I tell myself we have time to fix things. That I’ll get across to him at some point. I just need to keep trying. 

“Let me just pack some clothes,” I tell him. 

“You can borrow some of mine while we’re there,” he says, smirking again. I blush, thinking about wearing Baz’s clothes. 

“...Right. What are we going to tell your parents, then?” 

“That we’re working together on a project,” Baz says, “which is true, remember? We still need to find Nicodemus.”

I nod, smiling. “‘Course. Do you have a plan?” 

“Are you asking if I’m _plotting,_ Simon?” The way he says my name and quirks his eyebrow at the same time makes me weak in the knees. 

“Are you?”

_“Yes.”_

I grin. I can’t stop grinning as we walk down the stairs, then to his father’s car, then all the way to Hampshire, holding hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments! I admit I was a bit nervous to post this, but I'm really happy with the answer it's gotten. So thank you to everyone who stopped by to give it a read! It was a delight to have you guys with me on this wild ride.  
> Come talk to me on [Tumblr!](https://nightimedreamersworld.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Next chapter will be out on Friday for the Song prompt.  
> Special thanks to [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn/pseuds/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn) for beta'ing the first chapter!! 💞  
> Find me on Tumblr at [nightimedreamersworld](https://nightimedreamersworld.tumblr.com/)


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